The Right Move (Windy City, #2)

by Liz Tomforde

I’m not easily distracted, but if I could manifest my perfect distraction, it’d look a lot like her.

When did I say that? I’m a romance reader. I have a thing for assholes.

“We aren’t into bras?” “We? I personally don’t love wearing one with my pajamas, but you do you.” I hold my hands up in surrender. “Judgment free zone.”

“Ever hear the phrase ‘she’s not like other girls’?” He gives a small nod of his head. “Yeah, that’s not me. I’m just like every other chick. As basic as they come. I had an Uggs phase. I had a skinny jeans phase. I like my books with romance, my coffee with more creamer than caffeine, and I even take aesthetic pictures of my food anytime I’m at a restaurant.”

It’s decided. I’m going to bring some color into Ryan Shay’s life if it’s the last thing I do.

“Stop looking at her,” I warn. “Go hit the showers or get to the airport or just about anything other than look at her. She’s not available.” “So, you are hitting that.” Dom nods in approval. “No, I’m not hitting that. And neither are any of you. Stop looking at her or she’ll be the last thing you ever fucking see.” “Ooooh. Protective Shay is here, and his sister is nowhere to be found. Someone write this date down. History is being made, people. Ryan Shay gives a fuck about someone other than Stevie and something other than basketball.”

“Do you want me to get on my knees and beg or something?” “Now that you say it.” She cocks her head to the side, eyes roaming my length. “I wouldn’t mind knowing what you look like on your knees, Shay.” “Indy, please.” “This is ridiculous. We can talk about it when you get home.” “Perfect. Great. All I’m asking for is one night.” “Go get me your key so I can go crash in my new expensive bed.” “What an amazing guy to buy you a bed. Probably makes you want to return a favor. He seems like a wonderful person.” Indy rolls her eyes. “He’s on my shit list at the moment.”

What god-awful reason should Investing 101 be sandwiched between two books with shirtless men on the covers? Because they’re all orange? And why the fuck are there naked dudes on my bookshelf?

If I’m going to even consider taking you to this wedding, I’m going to need to turn you into one of my book boyfriends first.” That earns a raised brow. “Oh, come on. If we’re going to be acting, we may as well go all in. Do you know how to flare your nostrils in anger?” My breakfast almost comes back up. “What?” “If you see me across the room, talking to another man, I need you to stare intently then flare your nostrils. Or grind your molars together and tic your jaw.” “Blue—” “Do you know how to growl?” “What?” “Yeah, I don’t really know what that’s supposed to sound like, but every one of my book boyfriends is big into growling. Oh! And can you darken your eyes?” “Darken my eyes?” “Yeah. When you pretend to get angry or act really turned on, can you darken your eyes?” “No, I can’t fucking darken my eyes. What the hell are you reading?” “Don’t hate on my books. You could learn a thing or two from them. And they’re much more entertaining than your shelves of masochism.”

I want her here. I want her to want to be here. Fuck, when did that happen?

“Ryan, my guy, you’re so completely fucked, and you can’t even see it.”

“Do you have any pickup lines?” I quietly ask Ryan for no one else to hear. He shakes his head. “Nah. I’d rather pin you down than pick you up.”

“What you offer in a relationship, as a friend, a woman, a partner, by simply being who you are is more than enough. And if someone can’t see that you’re everything, then it’s them who's missing out. I know you’re faithful. It’s one of my favorite things about you, but there has to be a limit. Some people don’t deserve your unwavering loyalty.”

But let me make this clear, when it comes to her, I have no issue ruining my reputation. I will burn the world down to protect her and I’ll proudly wave the match, so everyone knows I’m the one who did it.”

“You know that jersey you’ve got with my last name on it? When you see it hanging there in your closet, let it serve as a reminder to you, that soon enough, it’ll be her last name too.”

“Ry, I’m heading to Michael’s.” Sitting on the couch with a book in his hands and his feet propped on the coffee table, Ryan stiffens before slowly lowering his book to his lap. “Say that again for me.” “I’m heading to Michael’s.” “And who the fuck is Michael?” Huh? As realization hits me, I try my hardest not to laugh. Jealous Ryan is hot, so I’ll let this play out before admitting that Michael’s is the craft store where I buy my embroidery thread to cross-stitch.

“Why do you like reading fiction so much?” he asks without a hint of judgment. “How else would you get to live a thousand lives in the span of only one? The beauty of fiction is that it makes you feel things on a visceral level. You can cry with those characters, laugh with them. It teaches you to look at another’s perspective, to have empathy. In nonfiction, you simply learn about something instead of feeling it.”

“This is practically a how-to manual on how to please a woman. How are more men not reading these?”